Instinctive
by KismetHappens
Summary: And then it was done with. My mind reappeared, like someone had flicked on the lights. I saw what I'd done and despite everything in me screaming 'No', there was a calmer, more reasonable voice saying, 'Right'. Original character fiction.
1. Without Regret

**Okay. So I altered some of the stuff that bothered me. It's more me being nit-picky about my writing than anything else.**

**Disclaimer: Twilight, New Moon, and now Eclipse are all the property of Stephenie Meyer.**

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_Preface_

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"You really shouldn't have followed me out here, you know," I say, almost in a tone of regret. Humans trust far too easily. Even when they know better. 

"Oh, really?" he replies huskily. Sadly, he's still trying to be seductive. He doesn't seem to realize the danger he put himself in. Not that I would have let him go even if he'd refused the danger. But to him, I'm just an extremely attractive female who wanted to leave with him for a more "private" place.

"Yep," I say curtly, before baring my teeth. I crouch and a slow rumble builds in my chest. I smell the adrenaline running through his system and an excess of venom builds in my mouth with each inhale. He really does smell delicious.

Of course, the poor lamb is absolutely terrified when I reveal my more…animalistic nature. But his fear makes him smell just that much more wonderful. And he smelled wonderful to begin with.

He starts to back off; he hits an alley wall. Wide eyes locked on me in terror, he breaks into a run, and I pounce. Before he can so much as scream, I've snapped his neck and have my teeth sunk into his flesh. His blood tastes better than it smelled—it's nearly always that way.

When I finish, I drop his body in one of the darker corners of the alley. Then I examine my clothes.

_Not bad_, I congratulate myself. Not a speck of blood anywhere but my lips; I lick it off. Luscious.

My eyes a more intense crimson, I walk into the night.

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**Please push the pretty periwinkle button. You know you want to...**


	2. Thirst

**This is a sort of flashback chapter. Background info. Enjoy.**

**Disclaimer: I don't own any part of the Twilight Series. Unfortunately.**

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_Chapter One_

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I was turned when I was nineteen. 

I'd had a really sucky night—I had caught my boyfriend cheating on me with my best friend.

And while that alone was awful enough, I had to go and get wasted. I'd never been much of a drinker—or a partier, for that matter—but I wanted to feel numb. So I slammed down drink after drink, the people around me cheering me on, even when I knew I was out of control. The out-of-control feeling felt good. I was tired of being the 'good girl' with the supposedly 'perfect' boyfriend and 'perfect' life.

Don't get me wrong; my life was far from horrible. My parents were divorced but got along. My older brother was something of my idol. I got good grades, stayed out of trouble, had good—I thought—friends. But I was bored.

More and more, I'd felt fed up with my life. It felt like my life was too uninteresting, too safe. I wasn't _un_happy, but I wasn't happy either. I hadn't quite acknowledged that feeling; I didn't like it. But catching my best friend halfway to home base with my boyfriend of three years made all of that come rushing out.

First, there was shock. Kristen had always seemed to be a wonderful person, and an even better friend. And Jonathon had always appeared faithful. He didn't even look at other girls, for Christ's sake! How was I supposed to have seen this coming?

Then there was sadness. Nothing was going right. Sure, everything was fine on the surface, but like I said, I was bored.

And then came the anger. First at myself for not noticing anything—had I really been that unobservant? It hadn't been the first time, I knew. My gut told me that much, and I always trusted my gut. And then I was angry, furious, at _them_.

How could they do this to me? The two people that I was closest to were betraying me? Just how long had this been going on under my nose? How long had people I loved been _lying_ to me?

I was mad. And frustrated and tired and depressed and rebellious. So I went to a party. There was always a party going on somewhere on campus. I had never gone to many, since I absorbed myself in schoolwork. But then was a time when I needed a distraction and a drinking binge was something that was _so not me_.

I left that party, stumbling my way back to the dorm. I was really hoping my feet knew the way, because my head sure didn't right then. Everything was dizzy and I felt more than a little nauseous. The hangover was going to be a killer.

I took a wrong turn, ending up at a dead end. Grumbling to myself, I turned around, nearly running into someone. I looked up.

He was amazingly attractive; I realized that even in my drunken haze. He was tall, maybe 6'3". He had dark hair, pale skin, and the most amazing cheekbones I have ever seen. Then there was his eyes. A deep, dark onyx—almost like a black hole in the way they drew me in. And he smelled incredible.

"Are you lost?" he asked me. His voice was like silk in soundwaves. I nodded dumbly, still mesmerized by his inhuman beauty. I should have realized something was wrong since my gut was screaming at me. But I attributed it to the beer.

"What's your name?"

"R-Roxanne," I stuttered. I really needed to puke.

"It's a pity, Roxanne. You're a lovely girl." This vaguely registered as sounding wrong, and yet, strangely, I was flattered.

"Um…thanks?" I really didn't want to throw up all over his shoes, so I turned to the side and puked. I'm sure he still thought I was a 'lovely girl' now.

But he just smirked and helped me to my feet. His hand was cold and I shivered, but I felt much better. My head was clearer, even if it was pounding insanely.

I sneezed.

"It really is a pity," he said softly, so softly I could barely hear him. I turned to face him, confused, but he wasn't looking at me. He was staring at my throat.

I gulped, stories of rape and murder flashing through my head. I was so, so _stupid_. I should have had someone walk home with me or give me a ride, or _something_. Now I was going to end up dead, or wishing I were. And all because the mess with Kristen and Jonathon had made me mad, made me brainless. A few tears slipped out.

Like lightning, he covered my mouth—as if I was capable of screaming—and I felt something sharp rip at my skin. I just sobbed, everything catching up with me, but most of all how _stupid_ I was.

A fire started at my neck, but I couldn't see what had caused it; I would have been blinded by tears even if I could have made myself watch.

Then I felt a wrenching sensation, which made me open my eyes in shock. At first everything was blurry, partly from pain, partly from tears. But next I saw him with a look of intense pain on his face. I nearly threw up again when I saw blood dripping from his lips—my blood. Instead I just fainted.

When I came to, it was because of the pain. My eyes were watering with it and I'm sure I was screaming, though I couldn't hear it. The pain was a fire—an all-consuming fire. It burned in my limbs and scorched through my veins.

I knew I had to be dying. It scared me, that thought. I hadn't thought I'd fear death, but there was still so much living I wanted to do. The thought of losing that is what scared me, I guess.

The fear made the pain that much worse, though I hadn't thought it possible. Worse pain that is. I was as if I had been set on fire and refused to burn out. I could sympathize with all those people burned to death now.

But why wasn't I dying? I should be dead. Or maybe I already was and had been condemned to hell. Maybe I would burn like this forever, though I couldn't think of what I had done to deserve such a fate. I was no angel, to be sure, but I was hardly a demon either.

And then the hopelessness set in. That numbed me some. Maybe I even stopped screaming. And after a while the pain was actually tolerable. It wasn't the agony it had first been. Maybe I was just used to it. Pain is relative after all. Like everything else in the world.

So imagine my shock when I feel an impossible cold on my arm. It felt like Antarctic ice in comparison to the rest of me. (Though I suppose that raises the question of whether Antarctic ice is colder than any other ice.)

And then the iciness moves to my head and it feels so impossibly good. A cool rain in the Sahara. And then a lifting sensation with streaks of ice enveloping me.

Perhaps some angel had discovered I didn't belong in hell and was bringing me to paradise.

Paradise. Paradise would be cool.

Then the iciness leaves and a small sob passes through my lips. I suppose I didn't deserve heaven after all.

After that I can't say what happened. Because the universe went black again.

When I woke up, I instantly felt like something was different. Not even necessarily bad. But I knew something important had changed. I curled myself into a ball, putting my head in my hands.

What exactly had happened to me? I remembered blinding, awful pain, but not what had happened before or after. It was all a fog. The worst part of it was that I knew it was _crucial_.

I sat there for a long time, not even knowing where I was, before I became aware of an ache at the back of my throat. At first I thought the fire was back, but then I realized it was something else. It was like being stuck in a desert for days on end and having all water denied to you. _Thirst_.

And then I smelled something. It was the most amazing thing I had ever smelled, better than the scent on the man who had done whatever he had done. My mouth watered.

Unconsciously, my legs began to move towards that unspeakably exquisite smell. I wasn't thinking, it was a reaction; like removing your hand from a flame. It was as if someone had pulled my strings, as if I were a marionette, and I'd lost any semblance of control over myself.

My eyes were closed as I neared the source of the scent, inhaling for all I was worth. Instinct took over; thought had turned nonexistent. All I knew was that the awful, horrible aching was going away.

And then it was done with. My mind reappeared, like someone had flicked on the lights.

I saw what I'd done, and, despite everything in me screaming "No!" there was a calmer, more reasonable voice, saying, "_Right_".

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**Please review. Even if you hate it. I'd probably cheer if I got a flame at this point. How sad is that?**


	3. Limbo

**Happy reading.**

**Disclaimer: Twilight, New Moon, and Eclipse are the property of Stephenie Meyer. Not me. Though if I had been the one to dream up Edward Cullen (literally too!)...well, we'll leave it at that.**

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_Chapter Two_

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I stood there for a long time, unable to comprehend what had just occurred. It just wasn't _normal_. It was sick, twisted, wrong, and yet I couldn't get rid of the feeling of rightness. Of the sensation that this was how it was supposed to happen. 

What was wrong with me? I'd just killed someone. And not an outright killing, no. I'd _sucked_ _her blood_. What was going on?

It was like some vicious and terrible nightmare, but the only problem was that I couldn't wake up. I _was_ the nightmare. And that terrified me.

I wasn't sure about much anymore, but I knew one thing was indisputably certain. This was all his fault. The 'man' in the alley. I couldn't remember why, I just knew. I couldn't remember much of anything, really.

I couldn't remember my family, just that I'd had one. I didn't remember anything. All those little moments you think about, that make you smile--gone.

I sobbed so hard that my entire body shook. My hand went up automatically to wipe my eyes, but then I noticed there weren't any tears, which just made me cry even harder.

I sit and I cry for everything I lost and for what little I gained. I lost a life, with blood running through my veins, happiness, and—if I was sad—tears. And what had I gained? An existence as a monster, an abomination. I shouldn't exist.

The despair deepens as I make the mistake of looking at the woman I killed. She hadn't even done anything wrong—just been in the wrong place at the wrong time. Like me.

What had I done to deserve this? I certainly wasn't living—my heart wasn't beating. But I wasn't dead either. No, I was stuck in a state of limbo, torn between the two. Lifeless, but not truly so. I was simply _being_.

I look at myself, really look. My skin is pale, hard. The infamous freshman fifteen had disappeared, replaced by muscle. What curves I'd had before were emphasized. With a sudden need to see my face, I dig through the woman's backpack for a mirror, cringing away from the personal effects that told a story I didn't want to hear.

I find it and force my eyes on my reflection. I inhale jaggedly.

My cheekbones are sharp, defined. Any blemishes I may have had are gone. My eyes are round, as if attempting the doe-eyed look of innocence. As if. Their crimson color kills any hope of that effect.

With a surge of anger, I throw the compact. Faster than I would have thought possible, it hits a tree with such force that a neat hole is made through the trunk. I stare in shock.

Great. Not only am I no longer human, but I have advantage in taking them out. Just peachy.

But the instant I take notice of the tree, the rest of my surroundings force themselves through my senses.

It's night. The sky is a perfect black, broken only by little pinpoints of light. And the moon is full, shining in its silver glory. My gaze drops to the tips of the neighboring trees, and then to the grassy earth. A faint trail is marked in the ground.

I inhale and a barrage of scents assails me. Dew and wood, earth and the heaviness of the air. Little birds in their nests and squirrels moving even in the darkness.

And hearing; I can hear everything. The beating of the forest animals' hearts, the wind moving through the leaves like a whisper. It's almost poetic.

My senses are so overpowering it's as if I'm alive again. But I know something's missing. My heart. It refuses to beat.

If this isn't life or death, is there an escape? A way to end the limbo? I suppose you could call it suicide, but that requires taking life, and my lack of heartbeat is a testament to the fact that I don't have that.

I think about it and the conclusion is depressing. No. If the whole compact-through-the-tree thing wasn't proof enough, I'm sure I'm indestructible. Fragility would make it too easy. Instinctively, I know my inference is correct. There's no way out.

Just how long can limbo last, though? Dante referred to it as a place that was like heaven but without hope. It lasted forever and there wasn't an escape, a hope of redemption.

Dante got it wrong, though. His idea of hell was awful, undoubtedly. But isn't it worse, so much worse, to live but be dead?

Limbo is the real hell.

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**So. Angst. If you were curious about why she forgot everything, I'm going to say it's because she was drunk. Very, very drunk.**

**Please review. It would mean the world to me.**


	4. Savior

**Dun, dun, duuuunn. The plot actually picks up in this chapter. I know--WHAT?? But it's still kinda slow, sorry. My sincere apologies.**

**Disclaimer: My name is not Stephenie Meyer. So, I don't own any part of Twilight or it's sequels. I don't have that kind of genius.**

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_Chapter Three_

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Killing gets easier after a while. First, you remove yourself from the situation. They are not people—they're prey, sheep to the slaughter. You become cold, uncaring. Because caring will get you hurt. 

Then you give up. You stop fighting and hand yourself over to instinct. You try to forget even though your mind refuses to allow you to do that. So you do the next best thing—you distract yourself.

How do you distract yourself? Never stay in the same place for an extended period of time, for starters. Then you lose yourself to the hunt. The hunt becomes everything.

And if you can't help but think, you rationalize. You were built for this. You have all the advantages. And if you were meant to do something else, why would it be so hard?

This is the code I've lived by for years. Three years more specifically. Three years of decimation.

I'd traveled throughout most of the U.S. and Canada. I even went to Mexico for a little bit, but having to put even more effort than usual into staying hidden from the sun wore on my nerves.

I suppose I could have gone to Europe or Asia—or anywhere in the world for that matter—but I had a bit of nostalgia. And besides, I figured I had a long time to 'travel'. Because in those three years my appearance hadn't changed one whit. My hair hadn't gotten longer, my nails were still short, and my physique had not altered an iota. Further contributing to my limbo theory.

My latest area of interest was Maine. I'd skipped over it the last time I'd been on the east coast and I wanted some clouds in the summer months.

I was running. I was always running really. Mostly because the speed was flat-out amazing, but partly because it emptied my mind. All I had to do was focus on not hitting trees.

I couldn't have been more than halfway through the state when I smelled it. Fresh blood. And not just a person randomly walking around either. They were injured and alone. Which just made my job that much easier.

I slow to a walk, slowly circling the area. I knew my eyes had to be near black with the thirst, but I held myself back a little longer. My control was infinitely better than the first year when I'd jumped nearly every human I came across. Now I had the strength to tolerate it. But open blood was so much more difficult to resist…

I near the scent, my mouth watering. But then I see my would-be victim. It's a little girl who can't be more than six. Breath I don't need catches in my throat.

She's crying softly, cradling her arm; she must have fallen and broken it. I notice a vague trail and realize that she had to have wandered off of it. I can't breathe.

I don't breathe but I can still hear. Hear her heart pounding in her chest, the blood rushing hrough her veins, the whoosh of breath entering and exiting her lungs. The darkest of temptations.

But I can't kill this little girl. I'm already enough of a monster, killing all those people over the years, but killing her would make me beyond any hope of redemption I may have had.

I stand there, frozen, my nails digging into my palms, making temporary crescent shapes in my stony skin. The ache in my throat is awful and I can't hold myself away for much longer.

Human instincts I thought were long dead are battling vampiric ones. Some odd, maternal instinct versus a need to kill.

I stare, take a step towards her, and then notice movement a little ways off. An inhumanly beautiful man with golden hair and eyes moves next to her. His skin glimmers slightly in a catch of sun. He's like me! And…what's he doing? Is he comforting her? How can he stand the blood?

Incredulity courses through me, obliterating any attempt to go after the girl. His eyes catch mine, ruby on gold. He breaks eye contact, gathering the now sleeping girl in his arms. Turning east, he breaks into a run. I just stand there in shock, unable to make myself move.

How…how is it possible? How can he have such control? How is he strong enough?

I slowly sink to the ground and lean against a tree. My eyes are still wide open from surprise.

I'm so stunned, so many things and emotions racing through me, that I don't even notice that the man returned until he speaks.

"What's your name?" he asks. I feel an alarming sense of déjà vu.

"Roxanne," I reply, turning to look at him in wonder. He just returns my glance curiously, head cocked slightly to the side.

"Is she okay?" I ask before I can stop myself. His face adopts an even more questioning look.

"Yes. I took her to her parents, who were very surprised to learn that their daughter had walked off." He shakes his head in disgust. "People like that shouldn't be parents."

I feel a surge of compassion for the girl, which is almost instantly overshadowed by blinding curiosity.

"How did you do it?" I ask, pure awe marring my voice. He chuckles slightly.

"It wasn't easy. It's taken quite a bit of practice to be able to do that." A slightly grim smile crosses his face, as if remembering some long-ago instance.

"Can you teach me?" I say softly, almost sure of rejection. His expression turns suddenly serious.

"This isn't a gentle lifestyle, Roxanne," he warns. "It's awful, hard, and nearly impossible to do. You're going to slip up, and when you do it just makes it even harder to resist. It's difficult, beyond difficult; it's the hardest thing you'll ever do."

I know. I know this. All of it. But maybe…maybe if I could stop hurting people, then it'd all be worth it. Maybe I wouldn't feel like such a monster.

I give a sober nod. "Teach me anyway."

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**So...any guesses as to who our mystery character is? You know what? You can tell me in a REVIEW! I know, the idea is absolute insanity.**


	5. Plunge

**Finally! My writer's block broke and it makes me exceptionally happy. I'm sorry to anyone who has waited for this chapter, because it's been a really long time. But enough excuses. I have the chapter, and best of all, it's done! Enjoy!**

**Disclaimer: I do not own Twilight or any of its characters. I merely twist the universe to please myself.**

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_Chapter Four_

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Hope.

It was so strange how such a little word could make such a big difference. I didn't know when I'd lost it, but I knew that having it gave me more appreciation. Because I knew I could lose it again, have it shattered and made even more impossible to repair.

Which was why I was so determined to make this work. I wouldn't give in to temptation. I would fight harder than I had ever fought. Giving in was not an option now that I actually had them

And it would seem that he sensed my determination, because he echoed my nod and took off, motioning for me to follow. To trust him, to go on faith. Two more things I hadn't had before. It would seem that hope had a domino effect on certain qualities.

We were traveling fast, but not as fast as he or I could go. West, towards the setting sun. How fitting, I thought. The sun sets on my old way of life. I could only hope that it wouldn't rise again.

I barely notice the green blur of the forest. My line of vision is focused solely on the blonde vampire in front of me. But I'm not really seeing him. He's just something for my eyes to settle on while my mind flashes around from thought to thought.

No more than a few minutes could have passed by the time we stop, though it might have been an eternity at the rate my mind was racing. There's an enormous, creamy yellow house in front of me that's obviously well-kept. A house? Permanent locations are a rather foreign idea to me. I've been on the move too long.

I wonder at the size. Just how many are in his coven for a house of that size to be necessary? I can smell at least three different scents in the vicinity, but I have a feeling that there's more. But how many more can there be? A coven of four is mind-boggling enough.

Another long-dormant emotion grips me. Nervousness. How will I be received? I've come from nowhere, a virtual stranger. The fact that we share the same secret is irrelevant. Vampires are not always friendly to other vampires. But then I glance back at the blonde and relax slightly. If he is any standard for the rest of his coven, I won't be treated badly.

"My name is Carlisle," he says. I jump slightly at the sound of his voice. I'd nearly forgotten he was there. "It was rather rude of me not to mention it earlier."

A small smile crosses my face. "Rudeness is the least of my problems."

Carlisle chuckles slightly. "I suppose you're right."

We stand in silence. He breaks it first.

"I'm afraid my family isn't home," Carlisle says. "However, if you would like to come in and clean up, I'm sure that Esme wouldn't mind your borrowing her clothes."

I suddenly feel very embarrassed. I'd never had any reason to give thought to my appearance. I'm abruptly self-conscious, aware of every tangle in my hair, every speck of dirt, my lack of shoes, and all the tears in my worn clothes.

"That would be nice."

He leads me into his home. And it's truly a home. It has all the little, unobtrusive personal touches that give it claim, declare that someone lives there.

Scents barrage my nose and my earlier guess that this was larger than a coven of four is affirmed. There are eight of them. My eyes widen.

Carlisle doesn't notice my sudden uneasiness, or if he does, he doesn't comment. Instead, he asks me to wait while he gets clothes. I study the room in his absence, taking it all in.

There's a large and expensive-looking piano in one corner. The keys are uncovered, so I suppose someone plays it often. The couches are all plush and only slightly worn. An enormous television hangs from the wall. I raise my eyebrows as I take in the hole in the coffee table. Its brokenness seems out of place in this home that was obviously put together with care.

"Emmett and Jasper had an argument this morning," Carlisle says from behind my shoulder. He holds folds of cloth in his arms. Like everything else in this house, they look as if they cost a great deal of money. "There is a bathroom at the top of the stairs to the immediate left. Take as long as you like."

I take the clothes from him, struck by how much compassion he's showing to a complete stranger.

"Thank you," I say. He nods, smiling, and I take my cue to leave.

I enter the bathroom and stare at the near-foreign contraptions. I haven't bathed in such a long time. I peel off my clothes and fold them up neatly to try to make up for their shabbiness. I step onto the tile of the shower and trace my fingers over the metal knobs before turning them as high as they'll go. It's not long before the room is filled with steam.

I stay in the shower for a long time, carefully scrubbing all traces of dirt from my skin and hair. I'm only satisfied with my cleanliness when the water no longer runs brown.

Reluctantly, I turn the water off and dry myself. I detangle my hair with a brush from the counter. It takes a while. When I'm done with that, I dress in the clothes. I'm surprised at how soft they are against my skin. They're slightly too small, but not uncomfortably so.

Finally, I work up enough courage to look into the mirror. I look like a wild thing that someone attempted to tame. My hair is too curly, my ruby eyes too vivid, my features too unnaturally sharp to be real. I'm too much for the muted colors I'm wearing and surrounded by. Just too much.

I freeze when I hear traces of laughter and catch the scents of those who live here. They're back. I can tell when they notice my presence because the laughter dies and Carlisle's soothing voice fills the void, explaining me.

I can't make myself move.

I'm so many things. I'm nervous, excited, tense, wary, and vaguely hopeful. I stamp out the hope. I can't afford to be disappointed. Just because Carlisle was accepting doesn't mean they all will be.

When I can't dither any longer, I grit my teeth and open the door to the bathroom. I pause at the top of the stairs. I feel as if I'm on the edge of a great precipice, about to teeter over the edge. The line I'm walking is very thin and any sudden movement will cause me to fall into oblivion.

I plunge into the darkness.


	6. Jewels

**I apologize that this took so long to update. There were some extenuating circumstances. Also, due to those circumstances, this is the last chapter. I figured I owed an ending to whomever is reading it. I tried to finish it as well as I could, though I'm still not quite happy with it. I hope you like it. (Thanks to everyone that reviewed. It means a lot.)**

**Disclaimer: I don't own Twilight or anything affiliated with it. I just like to play in that particular universe.**

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_Chapter Six_

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I break my position when Edward enters the room. He smiles sheepishly. "I didn't mean to disturb you."

I shrug. "It's fine."

"It's just that it's very interesting to listen to your mind when you meditate," he continues. "It's like turning down the volume on a stereo." The corner of his mouth twitches up. "Maybe I should convince Emmett to join you sometime."

I smile. "I don't think anything would be accomplished then. He'd be talking the entire time."

"Too true." Edward's expression turns wistful.

"Oh well," I say. "It was a nice thought."

He rolls his eyes at the pun, then his expression becomes slightly less lighthearted. "Bella and I are going hunting. She wants to know if you'd like to join us."

"I went two days ago," I say, shaking my head. He nods in assent and leaves, closing the door to my room behind him. My room. The words sent a small thrill through me.

I resume my pose and breathe deeply. Alice first suggested meditation as a means to control my bloodlust. It helped immensely and I liked it enough to continue with it even after I had managed to restrain myself from jumping every human I came across. It was a relief not to have thoughts whirling through my head at impossible speeds.

But, unable to regain my earlier concentration, I settle for thinking pleasing thoughts. An unbidden smile sits on my lips as I realize all that I have now. I have a place that I belong, people who actually care what happens to me. (Though I sometimes think Rosalie would like to shove me off of a cliff despite the fact that it wouldn't do me any real harm). I have a room in the basement of a home. My home. One filled with my family.

My family.

It shocks me a little. I've never really thought of them as my family before. It's strange, like finding jewels along the shoreline instead of shells. So much better than what you'd ever hoped to discover.

I test it out.

"Family." It sounds foreign in my mouth, but pleasant. I decide I like it.


End file.
